Harlequin Historical September 2014 - Bundle 2 of 2: Lord Havelock's List\Saved by the Viking Warrior\The Pirate Hunter (14 page)

‘Well, I'm glad of it,' he said, and then, realising how heartless that sounded, added hastily, ‘I mean, glad you can turn your hand to cooking. That smells wonderful,' he said, desperately hoping to make up lost ground. ‘Anything I can do to help?'

She stirred the egg mixture several more times before making her reply.

‘It might go down better with some wine,' she suggested as she added some ham to the egg mixture. ‘But only if you can fetch it quickly. This won't take but a minute more.'

He didn't need telling twice. Lord, but he needed to get out of the kitchen before he said something even more tactless and shattered the tentative hold she must be keeping on her temper with him. He returned, with a dusty bottle and two wine glasses, just as she was sliding the omelette on to a plate.

‘Not the best crystal,' he said, putting the bottle down beside his place setting and pulling a corkscrew from his pocket. ‘But you did specify haste, so I got these from the butler's pantry.'

‘I'm not used to the best crystal, anyway.'

She startled him then, by looking up at him and smiling ruefully. That she could still muster a smile, any kind of smile, and turn it his way, felt nothing short of miraculous. He dropped into his chair with relief, picked up his fork, swearing to himself he'd praise her cooking to the skies no matter what it tasted like.

But in the event, there was no need to feign appreciation.

‘This has got to be,' he said, ‘one of the tastiest omelettes I've ever eaten.'

She flushed and smiled again, this time with what looked like real pleasure.

‘The...the wine is very good, too,' she reciprocated, having taken a sip.

‘Don't go heaping coals of fire on my head. Coming here has been a disaster. All my fault. And you haven't uttered a single word of complaint. You're the only woman I know who wouldn't be ringing a peal over my head.'

‘This really isn't so very bad,' she replied, lowering her gaze to her plate, ‘compared to some of the things that have happened to me.'

‘What do you mean?' He hadn't really learned all that much about her past, now he came to think of it. He'd been in such a hurry to get her to the altar he hadn't taken the time to talk.

‘Oh, just...well, it was bad enough after Papa died, but at least Mama and I managed to maintain our independence. Even if it did mean moving frequently, to keep one step ahead of our creditors.' She flushed, and moved the omelette round and round on her plate, before taking a deep breath and plunging on.

‘But when she died, her annuity died with her. I really did have absolutely nothing, for a while. Fortunately, I managed to track down the lawyer who'd dealt with Papa's affairs, hoping he would have some solution. But all he did was refer me to Papa's relations. None of whom wanted the added burden of an indigent female. I really was at my wit's end by the time I reached London and my aunt Pargetter. I thought...' She looked up and flashed him a tight smile. ‘Well, you can see why all this...' she waved her hand round the kitchen, much as he'd done earlier ‘...doesn't seem so very dreadful. At least nobody can turn me out into that storm, can they? And we have food and a fire.' She shrugged and popped another forkful of omelette into her mouth.

He didn't know what to say. She'd been through so much. So bravely. And all on her own. And here he'd been, half expecting her to throw a tantrum like some spoiled society miss.

He pushed his empty plate to one side.

‘Come on, let's go and see about somewhere to sleep.'

‘But I need to wash the dishes....'

‘Leave 'em. Plenty more about the place, I'm sure. So we can have clean ones in the morning. The staff can do the washing up when they get back. That's what I pay 'em for.' He went round the table and pulled her to her feet. ‘I'm glad you've pitched in and put a meal together, but I draw the line at you washing dishes.'

‘I'll just stack them in the scullery, then.'

‘Very well.'

‘I think,' she said, with a shy smile, ‘that I'm going to like being Lady Havelock.'

‘What! After this?'

‘I have always hated washing up,' she said, wiping her hands and tossing her apron aside. ‘It's wonderful to just do the things I enjoy and leave the unpleasant tasks to others.'

Wonderful? From his point of view, it was wonderful she could describe
any
part of this evening in positive terms. ‘Glad to hear it,' he said, tucking her arm into his and leading her up the stairs.

‘This way,' he said, tugging her to the left and pulling a bunch of keys from his pocket.

He proudly flung open the double doors at the head of the stairs.

‘The master bedroom,' he said. Then reeled back, coughing, at the musty smell that wafted out to greet him.

‘It doesn't look as if anyone has used this room for years,' she said, wrinkling her nose.

‘About a dozen, I suspect,' he groaned. ‘I seem to recall the trustees saying something about only letting the tenants use certain rooms. I should have realised this one would be one of the ones out of bounds.' He ran his fingers through his hair. The Dog and Ferret was looking more appealing by the minute.

‘Well, let us find a room that has been in use more recently and is a bit better aired,' she said, stepping smartly back into the corridor.

‘What a good job you thought of coming down to look the place over before telling your sister she could come to live here,' she said brightly, after they'd inspected several more rooms and found them in a similar state to the master suite. ‘I'm going to have my work cut out, getting it ready for her return.'

Not if he could help it. He'd hire an army of servants to scrub and clean this place from top to bottom. Hang the expense. He wasn't going to have her working her fingers to the bone on his account.

* * *

Mary was just beginning to think they would have to go back to the kitchen, after all, when Lord Havelock opened the door to a room that didn't reek of damp and mice.

‘It doesn't strike so cold in here, does it?' he said, stepping over the threshold. ‘I'll tell you what it is,' he said sagely, as she lifted the corner of a cover that shrouded an item of furniture that turned out to be a bed. ‘Right at the end of the corridor, here, the room faces south. It must get the sun all day. Bound to keep it drier than the others, which face west or east.'

‘Even so, I'm not too sure we can use this bed,' she said, lifting the cover higher to reveal a rolled-up mattress at the end of the frame.

He sighed. ‘The bedding at the Dog and Ferret may have been dirty and damp, but at least there would have been some.'

‘We could air the mattress for a while in front of the fire, once we get it lit,' she suggested. ‘And we can use our coats, and what have you, for bedding. Just for one night. If...if you wouldn't mind fetching our luggage.'

‘I'll do that,' he said. Then, as he passed her, he swept her into his arms and gave her a swift, hard kiss. ‘You think of everything.'

Well, in the past, she'd had to. She wouldn't have got as far as Aunt Pargetter, if she hadn't had the sense to track down the lawyer who'd dealt with her father's affairs.

But, only fancy, now she was telling her husband, a peer of the realm no less, how to deal with the situation in which they found themselves. And sending him off on an errand.

She wouldn't have believed it, if someone had told her, even a few weeks ago, that she'd have the courage.

But it came easily to her, with Lord Havelock, she mused, kneeling on the hearth to see if she could get the fire going. In fact, as she set a taper to the wadded-up paper in the grate, she decided she was going to ask him to fetch some more coal, when he came back with their luggage. For there were only a few dusty coals sitting on top of the kindling, and only a handful more in the scuttle. And she really didn't think he'd mind.

Thanks heavens she'd decided to make the best of things, rather than nursing her grievances. What was the point, after all, of dwelling on past mistakes, when he was clearly making such an effort with her now? He'd been an attentive companion during the journey, apologised profusely for the state of the house and even carried her over the threshold—a romantic gesture that had taken her completely by surprise. Not that she was going to read too much into it.

She didn't care that circumstances were far from ideal. They were making a much better job of being married than her parents ever had, with each blaming the other for everything that went wrong and neither of them lifting a finger to do anything about it.

She put her hand to her lips, which were still tingling from his last kiss, a great surge of hope rising up in her heart.

‘How are you getting on?' said Lord Havelock as he came back to the room with one of her cases and one of his.

She opened her mouth to thank him for being so even-handed, rather than just bringing up his own cases first. But the moment he'd opened the door a cloud of smoke came billowing into the room instead of going up the chimney, making her cough and wipe at her streaming eyes.

‘Now I can see,' he said, shutting the door hastily, ‘why this room was never occupied by the family, in spite of the view. It looks as though it has one of those fires that sends more smoke into the room than up the chimney.'

‘It doesn't seem to be drawing very well,' she said. ‘I just thought the chimney was probably a bit damp.'

‘No. I've just remembered something. I never understood it before, but it was so odd, that it stuck in my mind,' he said, striding to the window. ‘Nobody ever lit the fire in here without shutting that door and opening this window first.'

He turned the handle and pushed at the casement. It didn't budge.

‘Stuck,' he said gloomily. ‘Frame is probably warped with damp. Will probably need to get a lot of the frames shaved,' he said, giving it another, harder shove, ‘or replaced.'

Suddenly, the window gave. Only not just the casement, but the hinges, too. His entire top half disappeared through the opening for a moment while a gust of wind whooshed in.

The smoke curled in on itself and got sucked up the chimney while flames finally started dancing across the sluggish kindling.

Lord Havelock hauled himself upright and staggered away from the window. He was sopping wet. And swearing fluently at the segment of window frame he was still clutching in his hand.

‘You...you...' She pressed her hand to her mouth. But it was no use. She couldn't suppress the torrent of giggles fizzing up inside.

‘You are quite...' she managed shakily. ‘Quite right, the fire d-does draw better with the window...the window...' Finally rendered speechless with laughter, she pointed at the frame dangling from his hand.

‘You think this is funny?'

She nodded, completely unable to frame any words for the laughter bubbling over.

With a low growl, he spun away from her, wedged the window frame back in place and thumped it home with several strategic blows from his large, powerful fists.

Strange, but she wasn't the least bit intimidated by the demonstration of raw masculine frustration. If that had been her father, now, she would have been crouching lower, keeping her eyes down, her head bowed. Anything and everything to render herself small and invisible.

But Lord Havelock wasn't cast from the same mould as her father. He might be hot-tempered, but he wasn't bad-tempered. And that made all the difference.

As if to prove the point, the second he'd mended the window as well as he could, he strode across the room, dropped to his knees beside her and draped one arm about her shoulders.

‘You're a good sport,' he said brusquely, before planting a kiss on her temple. ‘I know I've said it before, but you must be the only woman alive who would see the funny side, rather than ripping up at me.'

He took the poker from the set of fire irons and started pushing the coals into more strategic positions.

‘So far today you've had to skivvy like a kitchen maid and now you're going to have to sleep in conditions that are tantamount to camping out.'

Whatever must the women in his past have been like, to carp over such trifles as that? No wonder he'd been so reluctant to get married, if that was his expectation of female behaviour.

‘All I really asked of you was a room of my own, in whichever of your properties I happened to be,' she countered. ‘We never specified it should have fully f-functioning, w-windows...' And suddenly she couldn't quite stifle another bout of giggles as she recalled the look on his face when the whole thing had come away in his hands. ‘Or f-furniture of any kind, come to that.'

‘Like I said, a good sport,' he said, smiling at her with approval.

‘What would be the point of ripping up at you, over something as silly as this? You didn't mean me any harm. It's just...' She reached up and cupped his cheek.

‘Oh—you are so cold. You must get out of those wet things at once.'

His smile turned a shade wicked.

‘Now that's what a man likes to hear from his bride. An invitation to get out of his clothing and into—' He stopped short. ‘Only, hang it, we haven't actually got a bed to get into.'

‘It won't take long,' she said, a touch breathlessly, ‘to make one up.'

He tossed the poker aside and gave her a look that made her heart leap behind her breastbone.

‘In fact, all we need to do...'

‘Yes?'

‘Is to bring the mattress over here and unroll it in front of the fire.'

‘Brilliant notion,' he said, dropping a swift kiss on her cheek.

As she went to open their cases, he ripped off his damp jacket and shirt and tossed them into a corner. Her mouth dried at the sight of his naked torso. Though she was supposed to be selecting the items of clothing most suited to form bedding, she just grabbed handfuls at random, unable to keep her eyes straying from the sight of him wrestling the mattress into submission. In the end, it happened to be a couple of his shirts and her spare petticoat that she spread over the mattress, and heaven alone knew what she had wadded up into makeshift pillows.